


Cast the first stone

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Ableism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, Minor Character Death, priest!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas didn't believe in much these days. Martin believed in too much. A Priest!AU.</p><p> </p><p>Based off a prompt in the CP meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The world was fucking scary. No, Martin was not going to take that back, it was fucking scary and he wondered how anyone was capable of living in it.

Okay, he'll admit that was going a bit over the top. How could anyone blame him, though? Today alone he was groped, spat on, leered at, screamed at, and one person looked like they were ready to take a swing at him.

Why didn't anyone tell him being a priest meant there was a target stapled to your back? Sure, he could just zip up his coat and hide his clerical collar but that was missing the whole point. People had to see his collar otherwise who else would they know to go to for help?

So Martin duitfully kept his coat zip down, trying his best to walk through the streets with confidence. He was here to help and damn all bad experiences to hell, he was going to do it.

So when Martin was suddenly pulled into a nearby alley way and a fist slammed into his gut, he suddenly began rethinking his career options.

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Douglas wondered where it all went wrong. Logically, he knew it wasn't just one event that started the downhill path, but his mind wouldn't let go of the idea that perhaps, if he avoided  _that/a_  certain day, his life would be dramatically different.

Maybe it was the day his wife left him. He gave her some of the best years of his life and once she left, he would always question his self-worth. Or maybe it was the day his daughter stopped calling him 'dad' and started calling him 'Douglas'. He never blamed her- the title of dad had to be earned and he certainly didn't do his job. Or maybe it was on the day he was fired from Air England. Lost his job, along with his reputation, and having that permanant black mark on his record certainly did not make it easier to find new employement.

Or maybe... maybe it was because of  **that**  day. He could argue that was the day everything came crashing down, but those previous days helped lead up to it.

Douglas debated about it each and every second of his sorry existence. If any of those days had changed, would he be sitting here now?

A furious knocking jerked him out of his thoughts. Douglas groaned and tried to ignore the knocking- probably just the damn neighborhood kids again- but the noise persisted. With an aggravated groan, Douglas got up from his chair and limped to the front door.

_I swear, if there's a flaming bag of shit on my doorstep..._

Douglas swung the door opened violently. He could have easily looked through his peep-hole and just ignore the visitor, except Douglas liked to surprise the person on the other side with his weight and impressive height. Nothing stopped salespeople faster than intimidation.

Except the person on the other side wasn't a salesperson. It was a short red-haired man and he had jerked away from sudden opening. The man's left eye was bruised and there was a cut across his cheek.

Well, this was new. Douglas looked to the right and left, trying to see if this was a prank of some kind. He saw no one. "Yes...?"

"Can you help me?" The man squeaked. He was practically near tears. "I've just been mugged. My mobile and my wallet... can I use your phone to call the police?"

There'd been a few break-ins in the neighborhood with people coming to the door with fake emergencies. Douglas narrowed his eyes at the man, taking in his shaking form, wondering if this was all an act.

Under Douglas' scrutiny, the man slunk downward, as if trying to disappear in himself.

Well, if this really was a break-in, there was no way this tiny man could take Douglas on. It looked like a teddy bear tossed at his head could knock him unconscious. "Come in," Douglas sighed, moving aside. "Phone is in the kitchen."

"Oh, thank you!" The man said, relieved. "Thank you so much!"

"Mmm... no problem."

Douglas led the man into his kitchen to where the phone hanged on the wall. He noticed the man was looking all around his home, making Douglas rethink his stance on this being a home invasion.

When the man noticed  _his_  staring, he grinned politely and said awkwardly, "You have a lovely home."

Oh God, was this mugging victim really trying to make small talk? For fuck's sake.

Douglas left the man to do his thing while he slunked back into his living room to sit on his chair. Half of him wanted to go back to his original thoughts but he wasn't about to feel sorry for himself in front of this stranger. Instead, he picked up a nearby newspaper (three days old) and tried to read articles he already read.

Five minutes later the man hung up the phone and stood by the kitchen entrance. "Thank you for letting me use your phone."

"You're welcome," Douglas grunted.

"I hope you don't mind. I gave the police your address. They should be here in a few minutes to take my report."

"Hmmm..."

The man walked out of the kitchen doorway to stand in front of Douglas. He held out his hand to him. "I'm Martin. Martin Crieff."

Douglas was about to say something witty and dismissive about the handshake. With a huff, he stomped the feeling away. He supposed it wouldn't kill him to be nice to the guy. He did just survive a mugging. And he looked like if Douglas said 'Boo!' to him, the poor man would run away screaming.

Douglas tossed the newspaper aside and shook Martin's hand. "Douglas," he said. "Sit down, would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please."

The sencerity in Martin's voice was half-genuine, half-fake. It was like he was trying too hard. It gave Douglas pause, but he shurgged that off and went to the kitchen to heat up the kettle.

When he came back into the living room, he noticed Martin was advidly looking over Douglas' collection of model planes. When Martin noticed he was being watched, he backed away, blushing. "Oh, um... you have a talent for models."

That was strange. "Most of them were gifts. Do you like models?"

"I... I do. I did. I used to make model aeroplanes when I was a child. Not so much nowadays. But, um, I did notice this picture of you." He pointed to one leaning against the fire place mantel. It was a picture of Douglas in his captain uniform. "Are you really a captain?"

He sounded so young, so hopeful. "No," said Douglas. "Not for a while now."

Martin deflated and tried to hide his disappointment. "O-oh."

"I  _was_  a captain for thirteen years."

"Oh-OH!" Martin was enthused despite the cut on his cheek. "That's incredible! May I ask what happened? Did you retire...?"

Douglas could have told him to the truth. It would have been too awkward. "Yes," he said.

He thanked God when the door suddenly knocked, ending this strange conversation he suddenly wished he didn't start. "I believe that's the police," he said. "You should probably answer the door."

While Martin spoke to the police, Douglas busied himself with the tea kettle. He half-listened to the conversation, hearing the things that were stolen and the description of the mugger. The conversation only lasted for fifteen minutes.

Martin trotted back into the kitchen. "The police are going to give me a lift. Thank you, Douglas, for your kindness."

"It was no problem." Douglas said. Martin unzipped his jacket, revealing his clerical collar. Douglas swallowed. "You're a priest?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes, I suppose I didn't tell you." Martin dug into his inside pocket and brought out a business card. He handed it over to Douglas. "Here, if you ever need a helping hand or guidance. You can call me anytime, 24/7."

Douglas took the card, not bothering to look at it. Martin gave his thanks once again and left Douglas' home, gently closing the door behind him.

Once he was gone the house was quiet, Douglas looked down at the card.

 _Join us at the Church of Saint Mary_! The card gave an address, a phone number, and good lord, a website. Shaking his head in disbelief, Douglas tossed the card away in the bin.


	2. Chapter 2

He thought about getting a cane. He had one when he got out of the hospital and it made him feel old and useless. He could walk fine without one, sure, though it made his limp more noticble.

Today, Douglas was wishing he had a cane. It was a mistake to come into the city thinking walking was not going to be part of the cirriculum. He could flag down a taxi but that would be throwing money away at this point.

In one hand Douglas carried a plastic bag and inside was a box of Talisker whiskey. The box weighed down, stretching out the plastic handle and cutting into Douglas' fingers. He may have got the whiskey for free, but the pain to bring it home was not worth it.

Swallowing a groan, Douglas trudged to the nearest bench and sat down. He hissed as his leg gave a twinge and he rubbed the muscle, knowing it won't help. He sighed, leaning his body more into the bench, turning his head lazily to the side.

He saw Martin walking towards him.

Unlike last time when Martin had a jacket to cover his clerical clothes, he was in full view today. Martin hadn't noticed Douglas, he was too busy trying to balance an armful of books.

It been at least two weeks since the mugging. Martin's bruised cheek was nothing more than a yellow spot against his skin. Douglas turned away, hoping he wouldn't be seen. He should've known it wouldn't have been that easy.

"Douglas!" Martin said surprised but happy. "How wonderful it is to see you again! How are you doing?"

Douglas sighed and leaned more against the bench. He might as well be friendly and scurry away at the first opportune moment. "I'm fine. How are you? Did they catch those muggers?"

"Um," Martin awkwardly shifted his hold on the books he was carrying. Douglas made no effort to help. "Um, no, they haven't. I'm fine though. But I'm glad to see you again, I've been wanting to repay you for your kindness."

"No, you don't have to-"

"I insist! The church is right around the corner. Please, come in and have a cup of tea with me."

Actually a cup of tea sounded really good. The bench was not a comfortable place to sit and his hands were cold. "Alright," Douglas said, heaving himself up. "Lead the way."

Douglas was not familiar with this part of town. He had expected the church Martin was taking him to to be something out of a Victor Hugo novel. He expected stain glass windows, a hundred pews and gargoyles hanging off the side of the building.

Martin took Douglas inside a small rented building with a poorly done paint job. There was a sign out front saying this was a church of St Mary, but to Douglas, it looked like an office space with religious objects scattered about. There were only about a dozen pews, a small table with unlit candles and posters tacked to the walls.

Martin dropped the books off at a random table, and motioned to Douglas to keep following him to the back.

Martin brought Douglas into a office area with a desk and a computer that looked older than time itself. Behind him there was bookshelf filled to the brim. Douglas could see the Bible clear as day, but he could also see titles like Harry Potter and The Hunger Games.

Martin followed his eye line. He grinned guiltily. "Please don't judge me," he said. "I may be a priest but I do enjoy books in numerous forms."

Douglas wouldn't give two fucks if Martin had the Karma Sutra on his shelf. The young adult novels were not the ones that got his attention. "Are those flight manuals I see?"

There was another guilt smile. "I-um, I wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid," he confessed. "I like planes." He coughed awkwardly into his fist. "Um, sit down while I make some tea."

There was a small kitchen to the side. There was a fridge, a tiny stove, and a sink. Douglas watched as Martin filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil. "So why become a priest when you wanted to become a pilot?"

"Various reasons," Martin said, taking his seat at the desk. "My dad was a very religious man and most of what I know came from him."

"You're following in his footsteps."

"In a way."

There was a soft knock at the office door. Martin told them to come in.

A young teenage boy popped his head in. He had light brown hair, a round face, and giant rosy-coloured cheeks. "Hiya, Skip," the boy said. "Just want to tell you we got all the books. What should we do with them?"

"Oh, thank you, Arthur. Can you distribute them among the pews?"

"Right-o!"

"Skip?" Douglas enquired once the boy left and the door closed once again.

"Arthur knows I wanted to be a pilot," Martin explained, his blush spreading out to his cheeks again. "He calls me that because... he thinks I should try out for my license again."

"Oh, you failed your first time? That's normal, a lot of would-be pilots don't pass their first time."

The embarrassed red flush became a darker shade.

"Oh?" Said Douglas. "Well, sometimes a third time's a charm."

The blush got redder.

At this point, saying anything encouraging sounded condescending to Douglas' ears. Instead of going down that route, he decided to to be blunt. "How many times...?"

"Six..." Martin said quietly, shamefully. "Six times..."

Well this was fucking awkward. Douglas didn't want to tell Martin to give up on his dream, obviously, but six times? Douglas also didn't want to be encouraging Martin either. He should give up on being a pilot and stay as a priest.

Thankfully the kettle whistled and both of them breathed an internal sigh of relief. Martin gratefully got up to get it.

After the tea was poured, they stayed on topics less embarrassing. They talked about the recent films, books, and local news. Once Douglas finished his first cup of tea and the (stale) biscuits Martin offered, he decided he stayed long enough. "Thank you for the tea, Martin," said Douglas, getting up and grabbing his bag of talisker. There was no way in hell was he going to stay another minute. "That was very kind of you."

"You're very welcome, Douglas," Martin said. "I hope you can come back around soon."

Not bloody likely. "Sure."


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe Douglas should have Martin arrested for stalking. If it was techincally stalking. Two days after the awkward the tea party, Douglas got a postcard in the mail. On the front it showed a picture of a woman statue. She was dressed in a long gown and had one arm raised to the heavens.

On the back, it said, 'Join us at the Church of Saint Mary, we welcome all people.'

Bit liberal sounding for a church, though Douglas really didn't care. It was annoying enough Priest-Martin knew Douglas' address by heart, now he was using the address to send Douglas spam? Really?

He considered calling up Martin and telling him to keep Douglas' address off the church's mailing list and decided against it. Calling would open up to more conversation. It was easier to simply recycle the postcard.

 

 

 

 

Douglas woke to the sounds of a couple arguing. It was a common noise around this neighborhood. Grunting, Douglas leaned over to look at the clock on his bedside table. 1:45.

He groaned and flopped onto his back, scrunching up his eyes and mentally willing the screaming couple to shut the fuck up and let him go back to sleep. He knew which couple it was, too. The woman and her kid were the only ones who lived there but apparently the stupid boyfriend came with her.

God, they were so loud. Douglas shoved his head under his pillow and hoped oxygen deprivation would get him back to sleep. Shut up, shut up, shut up-

Enough was enough. Douglas was going to go over there and give them a piece of his mind. Angrily he threw himself out of bed, grabbed a robe and shoved his feet into the nearest pair of shoes.

He wanted to stomp his way to the house, let off some of the anger he was feeling but his limp wouldn't let him. By the time he got to the house, his leg was aching and he was pissed as hell.

He could hear snippits of the yelling through the front door. This couple was arguing about money and mistresses and other such things. Douglas didn't care.

He raised a fist to pound on the door.

A man yelled out, "You little  _bitch_!" and the unmistakable sound of a hand striking flesh was heard. There was a crash, followed by a woman crying.

Dread filled Douglas' belly. "HEY!" He yelled and started pounding on the door. A quick serach of his robe pockets revealed he didn't have his phone on him. "LEAVE HER ALONE!"

The door swung opened suddenly and a short balding man dashed out. Douglas lunged forward, trying to catch the man by his shirt and missed. Without looking back, the man ran off into the night.

Douglas was torn in between giving chase and wanting to make sure there wasn't a  _dead body_  inside. His leg wouldn't give him the option to choose.

"Ma'am?" Douglas said, pushing open the front door cautiously. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

Douglas spotted her on the floor. She was pushing herself up, leaning her back against the wall, one hand gingerly cradling her face. Even from where he stood, Douglas could see the dark purple bruise taking shape.

"Ma'am," Douglas said in a soft, calming voice. He walked in slowly and kneeled down in front of her. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

She shook her head. She had her head turned, her face scrunched up as if she was more humiliated than afraid. "No," she said. "No police either. I don't... just help me up."

She raised a hand and Douglas grasped it, helping her to her feet. "Ma'am, please, is there somebody I can call? A women's shelter-?"

A small  _thump_  from behind made Douglas turn his head. Peeking out from the staircase was a familiar young man staring out. Douglas had seen this boy before, he just couldn't remember where.

"Arthur," the woman suddenly snapped. "Go back to your room."

Arthur took a large shuddering breath. "Mum-"

"GO."

Arthur ran up the stairs, a quiet little sob escaping his lips. The name and the voice clicked the memories together for Douglas. Wasn't Arthur the same boy he saw at Martin's church?

Once Douglas helped the woman into a chair by the kitchen table, he asked, "What about your priest? Can I call him?"

"Martin?" The woman scoffed. The scowling and pulling of her skin made her wince. "What can he do?"

 _Yes, what could he do_? Douglas thought stupidly. The woman didn't want to call an ambulance, she didn't want the police. She didn't shoot down the idea of calling Martin right off bat, so that was something. "A familiar safe face," Douglas suggested. "For you and your son?"

The woman's eyes softened at the mention of Arthur. She bit her lip and nodded, pointing to the direction of the phone on the wall.

 

 

 

 

Douglas spent the next ten minutes in making an ice bag. Actually, making the ice bag only took him three minutes. The next seven were spent in awkward silence as they waited for Martin to come by. The only thing Douglas was able to get from the woman was her name. She refused to share anything else.

Carolyn spent that time stuck between two emotions: anger and fear. Sometimes Douglas would glance over to her and see her fists shaking, her teeth gritting. Other times she looked like she was only a step away from collapsing into a hysterical fit. She managed to keep both under control.

The doorbell rang and Douglas was grateful to get it. As soon as he answered it, Martin was pushing his way inside. "Where is she?" He asked.

Martin's hair was messy from sleep, there were bags under his eyes. He wore his clerical shirt despite his trousers and shoes did not match. He must have thrown the shirt on as soon as he got the phone call.

Douglas pointed and Martin moved swiftly passed him, straight to the kitchen. Douglas was left to stand awkwardly by the open front door.

He wondered if he should leave.

"You know, he didn't always used to do this."

Arthur was back by the stairs, pressing his face against the railing. He too looked like he'd been crying, his eyes red and tired. "My dad," Arthur clarified. "There was a time when we were all happy. I don't know what changed."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How did Douglas find himself in this situation? He only wanted to tell the couple to shut up, not get involved in a domestic abuse situation with the  _kid_  watching. He wanted to leave, this was not his business. He shouldn't be here.

"You're Douglas, aren't you?" Arthur continued. "Martin talks about you sometimes."

Douglas made a face. They had tea  _once_  ages ago. "He talks about me?"

"I think it has to do with the fact you're a pilot. When Martin isn't talking about God stuff, his next favorite subject are aeroplanes. But Martin's special. He  _knows_  things."

That's ominous and creepy.

Then, in a small voice, so small Douglas barely heard it, Arthur whispered, "I'm really glad you called him."

A few minutes later, Martin walked back from the kitchen. "Douglas," he breathed in relief. "Thank you for coming to Carolyn's rescue. Not many people would have done what you did."

Uneasy guilt settled deep in Douglas' chest. He didn't deserve this praise, not when he was constantly thinking of wanting to be left alone from all of this.

"Arthur," Martin said up the stairs. "I'm going to make some tea for your mum. Would you like to help?"

A shy grin spread out on Arthur's face. He nodded and stepped down from the stairs. As he passed, he quickly gave Martin a small hug, then dashed to the kitchen. "Would you like a cuppa too, Douglas?" Martin asked, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

"Ah, no thank you, I really ought to be going."

"I understand. Thank you again, Douglas, for stepping in."


	4. Chapter 4

There was a knock at his door. At first Douglas didn't hear it and even if he did, he would have ignored it. His head was tipped back, his mouth was opened, and a small river of drool was dripping down his unshaven chin.

He felt dead. He couldn't think, couldn't move. His eyes were burning from lack of blinking but he didn't care. He could be dead and would not think any of it.

The knocking continued. Immediately that was ceased, only to be followed by the insistent ringing of the doorbell.

DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG-

Douglas' doorbell was technically broken. It sounded normal as soon as you pushed it, but pressing off sent the bell into a high pitched  _whine_  and it made the back of Douglas' throat tingle in irritation when he heard it. Feeling like his neck was going to collapse on itself, he forced himself out of the chair and limped as fast as he could to the door to cease that infernal noise.

He flung the door opened and winced at the sunlight hitting his face.

Carolyn pulled her hand away. "About time," she said. "Took you long enough."

Douglas blinked rapidly to get the sleep out of his eyes. He stared down at Carolyn, this tiny fragile woman and frowned.

The abuse only happened less than two days ago and it looked like nobody ever laid a hand on her. On closer inspection, Douglas could see Carolyn had applied such heavy makeup, it erased any indication of bruising. If he looked hard enough, he could see it. The darkness surrounding her eyes, the slight red shallow cut across her cheek.

Carolyn glowered under the scrutiny. She sniffled, and gagged. "Are you  _drunk_?" She asked loudly. Douglas flinched at the noise. "It's ten in the morning and you're drunk already?"

"Why are you here?" Douglas hissed as he pinched at the space between his eyes. God, was it really only ten?

Carolyn ignored his question and looked past him, into his flat. She eyed the empty bottles, the collected piles of newspapers and the take-away boxes with disdain. "Ugh, that is... move."

She didn't wait for him to respond and pushed him aside, letting herself in. Douglas, too drunk to respond in a timely fashion, gaped stupidly. By the time he formed a thought, Carolyn had already pulled off her coat, tossed it on a chair and started to clean. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Carolyn huffed. She gathered the piles of newspaper and set them aside. "I'm cleaning."

"But why?"

"Because this place is a sty!" She pushed back an old blanket and revealed three half-eaten apples. She grimaced. "Ugh..."

"No, stop, what are you doing here? I'm pretty sure you didn't wake up this morning and dalcre to yourself, 'I'm going to clean this bloke's house.'"

"You're right," she said. "I only wanted to come over to thank you for the other night. But if I'm going to thank you, I'm going to do it in a non-flea environment."

Douglas didn't know what to say. He wanted to throw her out, tell her to leave because she just can't come into his home uninvited, but instead said, "I don't have fleas."

Carolyn opened up a take-away container. A cockroach scurried out. "Rats then," she hissed, dropping the container. She went to the kitchen and dragged over the rubbish bin. "Maybe ticks. Or the bubonic plague."

Did Martin put her up to this? Douglas looked behind him at the door as if Martin was standing right there.

"You look like crap," Carolyn said to him. "Go take a shower. I swear I can smell you from here."

 

 

 

 

 

Douglas took the longest shower of his life. While he could admit it felt good to be clean and the warm water helped with his hangover, he stayed under the spray because he didn't want to face Carolyn again. Maybe if he stayed in here long enough, she would realize cleaning the flat of a complete stranger was stupid and leave.

By the time Douglas dragged himself out of the shower and dressed, it had been over an hour. He walked out of his bedroom, expecting to see an empty flat.

The newspapers were gone. The take-away containers were gone. The dishes had been washed. The questionable stain on the door had been wiped away. The floors were clean.

Carolyn was gone but in her wake she left everything completely clean. There was also a note tapped to the front door.

_Consider us even._

Douglas had to frown at that. He never considered having ever  _owned_. He didn't save Carolyn because he thought he would get something out of it. As far as he was concerned, he was done with the whole thing.

At least now it was official.

 

 

 

 

The pub was called 'The Riverside Entrance.' Originally the pub was located by the  _riverside_ , thus it made the name and its location easy to remember. But having a drinking establishment sit next to a a body of water was a bad idea; in less than two months time, four people drowned after falling in in a drunken stupor.

That was seven years ago and now The Riverside Entrance was located three miles away from the river and it there hasn't been a drowning since. It was an interesting piece of history Douglas liked to tell to strangers. It was a great way to break the ice.

Tonight, Douglas didn't feel like talking. He didn't feel like thinking, doing, and in the darker parts of his mind, breathing. He stared down at his little glass, idly swishing the contents back and forth, watching the air bubbles burst.

He licked his lips and drowned the entire glass in one go. Before he even swallowed, he motioned to the bartender for another. He felt sick. He wanted to stop but he was still  _coherent_. He was not going to leave until his mind was nothing but a white slate.

"Is this seat taken?"

Douglas turned to say 'No,' and when he saw who it was, he flinched. He had enough. "Are you following me?"

Martin sat down univited. He wasn't dressed in his clerical clothes and he had a glass filled with beer in his hand. "No," he said, frowning. "I just came in only a few minutes ago. Why, do you believe I am?"

"It feels like that," Douglas hissed, staring down into his drink.

"Oh... um, do you wish for me to leave...?" Martin got up.

"No," Douglas held out his hand, halting him. It wasn't Martin's fault, Douglas knew that. "No... it's fine. It's... its fine."

Martin sat back down. He took a small sip of his beer and casually looked around. He was so young looking, Douglas realized. He was probably carded when he bought his drink.

"So..." Martin started awkwardly. "Carolyn."

FUCK. Douglas nearly slammed his head down on the table, wanting to knock himself out. Really? Martin was going to have this conversation with him  _now_? "She offered to clean my flat," he nearly snapped. "I did not force her or coerce her into doing it."

Martin blinked. "She cleaned your flat?"

Well, this went from annoying to embarrassing.

Martin sighed. "The only reason I brought her up was because I know witnessing abuse can be hard. I only wondered if you wanted to talk about it. But... did she really clean your place?"

"She thought she was owing me a favor. She even left me a note stating that we were 'even.'"

"Ah, I see now. You have to understand, Douglas, with some people, they hate the idea of someone lording a favor above their head. Carolyn probably thought she was repaying you back for helping her out."

But Douglas didn't do  _anything_. He didn't call the police or an ambulance and that piece of shit husband of hers ran off. "Why?" Douglas asked. "Does she clean your flat on a regular basis?"

"Um... no. I think it helps she doesn't really see me as a man."

Well, she was right about that. With the right clothing, Martin could probably be mistaken for a nineteen year old. Add on top of that with his small stature and thin limbs, nobody with eyes could ever mistaken Martin for a threat.

Martin nearly pouted, offended at the way Douglas was nodding his head, silently agreeing with Carolyn. He quickly let it go. Better to be seen as a child than a threat. "A warning," Martin added on. "Arthur will want to help too. He won't see it as a favor, though. He just likes helping."

Douglas quickly drowned his drink. He nearly gagged as the rush of whiskey burned his entire esophagus. "No," he snapped, flipping the glass over and placing it down. "Please no. I already have the neighbors whispering after Carolyn left my flat, I don't need a  _kid_  adding to the rumors."

Martin blushed at the implication. "Oh, yes, I can understand. I'll talk to Arthur."

Douglas sighed in relief. "Thank you," he said. He raised a hand, indicating for another glass. He didn't see, but Martin was eyeing the empty glasses. As the fresh new drink was placed down, Martin turned his attention back to his own beer.

They sat in silence for a few moments longer, taking the occasional sip. Suddenly bored, Douglas said, "Hey, did you know this place used to sit by the river?"


	5. Chapter 5

When Douglas came home from work, he found Arthur Shappey sitting on the front steps to his flat.

He considered turning around and walking away. Maybe he'll go get himself an ice cream or something. But Douglas was damn tired and all he wanted to do was sit down and put his feet up. Sighing, he trudged forward.

The moment Arthur saw Douglas coming down the street, he sprang to his feet. He stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels, grinning, waiting for Douglas to finish his trek to the front stairs. "Hi," Arthur said. "Remember me?"

"Did Martin talk to you any time this week?" Douglas asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah! He said something about how you like your privacy and you don't really need my help..."

"Uh huh..."

Arthur snorted. "But that's just silly! Who doesn't want help? And I am a very good helper!"

Douglas could  _feel_  his patience draining. He could almost see it, like a beaker full of liquid slowly draining from a hole at the bottom. It was bad enough Carolyn had entered his home without permission, he didn't want Arthur to do the same.

He stepped forward, ready to lay down the law here. If he was going have to shake some goddamn sense into the boy, then so be it.

Arthur was tall, but he was still a fifteen year old boy. He had to look  _up_  to stare into Douglas' face. Perhaps in another year or two he would fill out his limbs, but for now, he was as lanky and uncoordinated as a pup. When he saw Douglas stepping forward, his goodnatured grin slowly melted off into something uneasy and he unconsciously drew back.

Douglas could see there was  _fear_  in his eyes.

What the fuck am I doing? Douglas thought suddenly, stepping back quickly and away, drawing in his arms close to his body. Arthur has been witness to violence against his own mother from his father. For all Douglas knew, he has experienced that violence first hand. And what did Douglas planned to do? Intimdate him using his weight and girth like a goddamn  _beast_.

"Douglas...?" Arthur said, moving forward cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm fine..." Douglas said, forcing his voice to be gentle and soft. "Just a bit sick."

Immediately Arthur beamed. "I can make you some tea! I'm really good at teas and coffee! Let's go inside and I'll make you some!"

Douglas nodded. "Alright."

 

 

 

 

When Arthur said he was good at making tea and coffee, Douglas thought he was joking. He wasn't. Arthur moved about the kitchen like he'd been in there a thousand times before. Douglas' coffee machine, an old wedding present, bowed down to Arthur's whims and within a few minutes, bubbled out one of the best cups of coffee Douglas ever had.

"My god," Douglas hissed after taking his first sip. "Do you work at as a barista?"

Arthur giggled. "No. I help out with the church when there's an event happening. Martin let's me hand out coffee and tea because I'm so good at it!"

"I didn't realize the church was so... hands on."

"Well... not always. There are some who think the church should be more... you know, church-y." Arthur looked down at his own cup, tapping his fingers around the glass. "Skip always tries to teach me more about it but... I don't get it sometimes. Skip says it's fine though, that it's not that big of a deal."

"The second coming, is he?"

Arthur cocked his head in confusion. "Nevermind," said Douglas.

"I keep trying, though," Arthur continued. "And that's what I like about Skip. No matter how many times he fails, he always tries."

Douglas nearly snorted. Who the hell wanted to keep trying when failure kept repeating itself? How many times was Martin going to take his CPL before realizing he was wasting thousands and thousands of pounds on something that was never going to happen?

How did the quote go- insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Sometimes it was good to give up because the next failure could be your last.

_"Don't give up, honey. Please, don't give up."_

Douglas nearly choked on his next sip. Hastily he put down his cup as the pain in his leg twinged sharply. The sentence kept echoing in his head. "Arthur..." he said slowly, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. "Don't you think it's time for you to go home?"

Arthur glanced up at the clock. "Hmm? Oh, yeah! I better get started on dinner for mum! Thanks for reminding me, Douglas. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?"

The pain was increasing by the second. Douglas nodded furiously, anything to get Arthur out of here as quick as possible. He didn't know what he was agreeing to.

As soon as Arthur closed the front door behind him and the sounds of footsteps faded away, Douglas let himself sink to the floor, clutching his thigh, biting his lip to keep the wail in.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur came over the day after that. And after that. And after that. Every day he came, either waiting patiently by the steps or out in the streets, playing with the local kids. He would stay and hour or two, making coffee and just chatting.

Douglas made an effort to keep himself sober whenever Arthur was around. After nearly blowing up on the boy, Douglas was more conscious keeping his attitude in check. If there were rumours, well then... fuck it. It was not as if Douglas had an actual reputation to keep.

Besides, if Douglas was pressed to admit it, he liked Arthut. The boy was like a puppy. He was so energetic, so happy all the time. There were a few times Douglas found himself giggling at Arthur's antics. Plus, it was kinda nice coming home to someone who was expecting to see him.

He hasn't had that in a long, long time.

Douglas did wonder though if Arthur told Carolyn about the visits. Douglas learned very quickly that Arthur didn't lie ( _couldn't_  lie. It was like he was physically unable to) and he also wore his emotions on his sleeve. It was unlikely he kept such information from his mother.

Douglas didn't have to wait long for his question to be answered. A few days later when he got off the bus and limped towards his flat, instead of Arthur waiting by the steps, it was Carolyn.

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

She didn't  _seem_  angry. She had her arms crossed over her chest and she was scowling, but she didn't look like a grizzly bear mother, ready to rip off the head of the fool who stood between her and her baby.

Douglas decided to treat this like a bandage: rip it off quickly and hopefully it'll be painless. He stepped right up to Carolyn, opened his mouth and-

"Arthur is too shy to ask you," Carolyn interrupted him. "So I am doing it in his place. Do you want to join us for church on Sunday?"

Douglas was stunned. He certainly wasn't expecting this. "Are you serious?"

"Frankly I don't care either way, but Arthur wants to know."

"Uh," Douglas hasn't been to church since his parents declared he was old to decide if he wanted to make the effort to go church every week. Douglas has slept in on every Sunday since he was fifteen.

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Carolyn narrowed her eyes at him. She move aside him, and Douglas thought that was going to be it, but as she passed him, she said in a very low, very  _dangerous_  tone,

" _Come sober_."

 

 

 

 

For the first time in many, many years, Douglas got ready for church.

He woke early, ate a small breakfast, pulled out a clean white shirt, black trousers, ironed them and put them on. The quietness of the morning was a welcome feeling. He didn't have the television on, he didn't have the radio on. The silence was so good, he almost felt... at peace.

Douglas bit his lip. Guilt burrowed deep inside of him, telling him he did not deserve such a feeling.

Arthur's familiar musical knock broke Douglas out of his dark thoughts. He grabbed a tie- already knotted, just needed to slip on and tightened- and went to the door. Arthur was there, swaying back and forth on his heels eagerly like a toddler rather than the teenager he was. "Ready, Douglas?"

Douglas looked past him to Carolyn, who was by the sidewalk, dressed in a simple blue skirt and blouse. She seemed determine to keep her face from showing her displeasure with Douglas in their presence. She greeted him politely and that was all.

Douglas offered to flag down a cab and Carolyn refused, saying it was warm enough for them to walk. Warm enough, sure, though Douglas' leg wasn't going to be happy about it. Arthur didn't seem to notice the odd tension between Douglas and his mother. He was too busy happily telling them his lessons at school and the odd plot lines of the television shows he watched. Douglas and Carolyn never exchanged one word.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the church. Just in time too, Douglas could feel his leg tightening. Another five minutes of walking without a break and he would have collapsed.

Martin was out front, greeting those who entered. He was in full costume now, looking like every inch of the priest he supposedly were. Immediately Arthur ran up and hugged him.

"Ooof! Hello, Arthur, nice seeing you this morning." Martin awkwardly patted the top of Arthur's head. "Carolyn, good morning. Douglas! I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Arthur dragged me along," Douglas said. "I will have to admit, Martin, I haven't been to church since I was a lad. Tell me, what will I have to expect today?"

"Oh, you know, the usual God stuff. I'll make a few people feel guilty about cursing in public this week, announce future neighbourhood plans, and then collect money for the homeless shelter."

"So it's very low-key, is it?"

"Pretty much. Come inside. There's some coffee, hot chocolate and biscuits if you want it, but don't bring it inside the actual church otherwise Nancy, our organizer, will have your head for it."

Now that was certainly different from Douglas' day. When he was a lad, one Sunday his mother rushed him out to church without having breakfast. Desperately hungry, Douglas snuck in a packet of sweets. When the priest found him eating in the toilets, he spanked his bottom black and blue.

They went inside and Arthur immediately went straight for the hot chocolate. Carolyn followed him to remind him to not take any of the biscuits otherwise he'll get a sugar headache.

Douglas hanged behind, not wishing to snack. He'd already eaten and too many people were crowding the table already. Best to leave it alone.

"I can't believe her."

"How dare she come here and sully this house of God."

Ah yes, now that was a familiar sound: the squawking of gossiping ladies. Douglas remembered them well. His mother was one of them. If there was gossip to be shared, she would repeat to anyone willing to listen. It didn't matter if it was true or not. Douglas wondered who they were talking about. He looked around, saw most of the women here wearing nice, simple clothing. One or two women wore trousers, but that shouldn't warrant talk.

"It's bad enough she's a whore, but she has to bring that son of hers with her too?"

"Is he retarted?"

"No, just stupid."

Douglas went still. Were they...? He looked at the two ladies and yes, they were definitely staring in Carolyn and Arthur's direction.

"From what I hear, that husband of hers is staying with a mistress across town. Can't blame him."

They were keeping their voices low but not low enough. Douglas did not know what they were trying to achieve here. Damn him if he stood there and continued to listen to this garbage.

"Excuse me ladies," he said, grabbing their attention. Both of them were around his age, and one of them immediately looked upon him with an appreciative eye. Good, then it would hurt more when he lowered his voice and said, "I suggest you cease the bile you have spewing out of those  _gaping holes_  you call mouths. As you said, this is a house of God and you should keep your judgmental, ill-informed,  _ableist_  talk to yourself. Hmmm?"

Both of them gaped. One sputtered and said, "How dare you, you're probably fucking that whore-"

Douglas preferred not to get into a cursing match with a fifty year old woman in a church. He preferred a lot of things, but that comment got him seeing red. Civility and witty comments dropped out of his head and the words GO FUCK YOURSELF were right on the tip of his tongue.

" _Enough_ ," Martin snapped, suddenly appearing out of nowhere and stepping in between them. "This is a house of God and I will not permit fighting here. Douglas, please attend to Arthur, I think he's on his third cup of chocolate."

Douglas turned to see Arthur, his mouth covered in brown and smiling in a drugged state while Carolyn shook her head mournfully.

Martin turned to the women. "Michelle, Allena, your accusations are cruel and unwelcome. If you continue to carry that type of talk, I will have to ask you to leave. Neither of your souls are free of burden or sin, so do not act as if you walk in footsteps of Jesus."

The women choked on their next words.

Douglas walked back to Arthur, leaving Martin to clean the mess of their argument. For the first time since Douglas opened his door to that tiny ginger-haired man, he found himself impressed.


	7. Chapter 7

Douglas learned very quickly Arthur was not particularly religious. The boy knew a few hymns, a couple of passages from the Bible, and of course loved the story of Christmas. Other than that, Arthur didn't come to church for any particular strong religious reason.

His joy seemed to come from simply attending a service with his mum. No politics involved, no talking needed. It was easy to sit down and listen to passages telling him how much he was loved by God, his family and the people around him.

For the next two months, along with having Arthur over nearly every single day, every Sunday Douglas went with him to church. His mother came alone too, though the relationship between her and Douglas had not improved. Even as they sat in the pews, with Arthur sitting happily between them, her demeanor did not change.

Maybe she knew what some of these evil church ladies talked about. Perhaps the only reason she came to church was for Arthur's sake. Once or twice Douglas tried to start a conversation with her, only to be shot down with a withering look or an uninterested grunt. Douglas gave up on trying to talk to her.

Saturdays were the only days Douglas did not see Arthur. Arthur spent his Saturdays sleeping in, helping his mother with chores, and seeing his school friends. Douglas took the opportunity of these No-Arthur Days to go out and run errands.

In his hands, Douglas was looking over a very fine bottle of whiskey. Because of Arthur, Douglas had not had a proper drink in ages. He felt like he needed to treat himself. Tonight, he could put on some classical music, pour himself a glass, and just sit and enjoy the atmosphere. It sounded heavily.

He turned and nearly bumped into a young woman. "Oh, excuse me."

The woman blinked at him. "Hey, you're Douglas right? I've seen you at church."

Douglas did not recognize her. As small as the Sunday sermons were, he did not know every single person there. Nor did he bother to try. "Hello," he said politely. "How are you today?"

"I'm great! How's Arthur?"

"He's... um... good."

"That's great!" Said the woman in the same enthusiastic tone.

This felt awkward. Unlike Arthur, whose enthusiasm felt genuine and warm, this woman's smile was a tiny bit forced. Douglas wanted to scurry away.

"I'm actually really glad to see you're real," the woman continued. "Arthur talked about his dad so much, for a moment I was thought he was lying."

It took a second for those words to register in Douglas' brain. He was too busy trying to look for a way out of the conversation. "Excuse me, what? Arthur's  _dad_?"

The woman's smile dimmed a bit. "Yeah. You're him... aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, but no. I am not Arthur's father."

"Oh... it's just... Arthur said his dad is a pilot, and I have noticed your wings when you've worn them to church, so I naturally put two and two together..."

Oh  _no_ , Douglas mentally groaned. Was Arthur really going around telling people Douglas was his dad?

In some ways it made sense. The amount of time he and Arthur spent together, going to church with him, helping him with his homework, of course Arthur was going to eventually see Douglas as some kind of father figure. Compared to Arthur's real father, Douglas was probably a fucking god send. But to actually  _tell_  people Douglas was his dad was going too far. Douglas needed to put a stop to this and soon.

After a polite and very tense farewell to the woman, (who scurried away like her feet were on fire) Douglas decided he was going to have a little talk with Arthur tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

They usually went out for pizza after church. Arthur always wanted to try something a little more exotic on his pizza, like anchovies or squid, but Carolyn violently shook her head at Douglas.

"Allergies," Carolyn had mouthed to him later on. She showed off the epinephrine pen she carried on herself. Douglas was pretty sure Arthur was not going to have an allergic reaction to anchovies or bell peppers, but he certainly didn't want to risk the boy blowing up on him in the middle of a restaurant on the mere chance he was wrong. So he ordered a plain cheese pizza, using heartburn as an excuse.

Arthur chattered away about school and homework while they ate. Douglas only listened with a half-ear, too busy of constructing the conversation he was going to have with Arthur. It was going to be hard on the boy, being told he cannot look upon Douglas as a father figure. Maybe Douglas should start backing off, put some distance between them. Maybe Arthur should stop coming over every day after school.

"I'm going to go wash my hands," Carolyn announced, getting up from her seat. "We need to stop eating here, the grease is disgusting."

"But I like eating here!" Arthur said through a mouthful of cheese pizza.

"We eat here too much. Arthur, wipe your mouth, and watch my purse."

Douglas waited till she was out of hearing range. He waited till Arthur was done patting his face clean of tomato sauce before saying, quite bluntly, "I'm not your dad."

Arthur gave him a look. "Uh... okay, Douglas."

Douglas could already see how this conversation was going to go. "Arthur, I'm being serious, I am not your father."

"I ...understand that. I'm not  _stupid_."

"Then why are you telling people I'm your dad?"

"I... I'm not!"

Arthur's voice was getting higher, more defensive. Douglas wanted to back off, but he needed to get through this. He cannot allow Arthur to spread such things. "Arthur, look, I know we spend a lot of time together. And I know that sometimes I help you with your homework, and I- here I am, buying you pizza, but I am  _not_  your dad. And I don't  _want_  to be. So please, don't spread rumours that I am-"

"I'm not-!"

"Horse shit!" Douglas suddenly snapped, slapping his hand down on the table hard enough to rattle their drinks. Arthur flinched back, his hands ducking down behind the table. He sat up straight, whole body tense.

Like a child being scolded by his parent.

Douglas' outburst got a few stares, and he forced himself to calm down. He lowered his voice, keeping it calm and said, very pointedly, "I know you've been telling people your dad is a pilot. I'm not a pilot anymore, Arthur. I haven't been for a long time now."

"My dad  _is_  a pilot-"

"Arthur-"

"He is!" Arthur said, tears gathering in his eyes. "He used to fly me and mum on his private jet! He doesn't anymore because he and mum fight all the time, and now he's mean and he... he..."

Oh.  _Oh_... fuck, oh shit.

Douglas painfully closed his eyes, wishing that the earth would swallow him whole. He almost didn't want to open them, to see the look on Arthur's face, to see how yet another male figure in his life let him down. Called him a liar to his face.

When he opened his eyes, Arthur was struggling to breathe. He was red in the face, trying so hard to keep the tears back. He looked like he was only a second away from hyperventilating. "Arthur,  _breathe_."

Arthur sucked in an lungful of air. He then coughed, and when Douglas tried to reach out to help, Arthur pulled back, and said so quietly Douglas almost didn't hear him, "My dad didn't want me either."

"Arthur?" Carolyn said suddenly from behind Douglas as she walked back from the restrooms. "Arthur, the pen is in my purse-"

Arthur shook his head, trying desperately to keep it together. Just as the first tear ran freely down his cheek, he made a little distress noise, threw himself out of his chair and ran for the door.

"Arthur!" Carolyn cried after him. She hurried to the table, grabbed her purse and hissed out, "What the fuck just happened?" before sprinting after her son.

Everyone in the restaurant was staring at Douglas.

Douglas placed his face in his hands. Once again, he ruined something good in his life because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Extreme domestic violence.

The headache was growing by the second. He should really stop before his brain exploded from the inside out. Despite the amount he has had already, Douglas didn't _feel_ drunk. He felt sober. Right headed. He was still so aware of his surroundings that he was getting angry by the second.

Now he couldn't even get _this_ right? How pathetic was he?

Arthur's hurt face kept repeating in his head over and over and over again, like a video tape stuck on loop. Arthur was not the type of person to hold grudges. Douglas should go apologize, go and make things right.

_My father didn't want me either._

Fuck. Shit. Douglas was right in the end. Arthur _had_ been looking up to him as a father figure.

Except Arthur was not aware of it. It was not as if Arthur picked Douglas out of a newspaper advert and decided, ah yes, this is the one I want. The boy was so desperate for a relationship, he unconsciously grabbed the first one that fell his way. God, Douglas should've nipped this in the bud when he had the chance. Now what was he going to do?

Maybe... maybe he should leave it as is. He got his fucking wish, Arthur now knew where he stood and it was unlikely he was going to come back. It was better that way. Douglas was not a role model. If Arthur stayed any longer, he'll be corrupted. Spoiled, like rotten meat.

Douglas didn't need to stain more children. He's done enough damage on his own.

"I heard what happened with Arthur."

Douglas didn't even bother to look to see who was talking to him. Instead, he groaned out loud, burying his face in his arms. He did not need this. Not now.

Martin hadn't even changed out of his priest clothing. The sermon had been hours ago. The other patrons in the pub kept giving him guilty looks, shyly taking sips of their beer while his back was turned.

"Whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it," Douglas spat.

"You care for the boy, I know you do."

"Stop it."

"Arthur isn't the type to hold grudges. You have time to apologise."

"Shut. Up. I'm warning you."

Douglas motioned to the bar keep for another shot and Martin, the ever loving _fuck_ , had the goddamn _gall_ to lean out, and moved Douglas' hand down. "That's enough," he said.

Finally, Douglas snapped. He was on his feet in a second, grabbing Martin by his stupid priest shirt, jerked him to the side and shoved him against the bar. The move was so forceful the cups rattled. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Douglas demanded. "You don't know me. You don't know what I am capable of."

"You're more capable than this," Martin wheezed, his voice filled with pain. "So much more, I've seen it. You just got to fight for it."

A small voice inside of Douglas was telling him to stop. Let go, back off, you're hurting him. "Fight for what, you stupid know it all! The job I don't have? The family I don't have?"

"Is this how you want to be remembered, Douglas? A bitter old man with nothing to his name? Arthur has given you a gift, don't throw that away."

Pretty words, that's all it was. Pretty, useless words. Words don't keep you warm, they don't keep you safe.

One of the other patrons in the pub finally grabbed Douglas by the scruff of his shirt, and roughly pulled him off Martin. Douglas let himself be pulled. He backed away from Martin, who sat up gingerly, ignoring those around him asking him if he was alright. His fucking eyes were still trained on Douglas, disappointed.

"Fuck you," Douglas spat. He wrenched his arms violently, tearing himself out of the man's grip. Douglas pushed him away, and ran out of the pub, stumbling into the street.

 

 

 

 

 

He didn't know how he got home. His feet were moving but his mind was elsewhere, replaying Martin's voice over and over in his head. He wanted it to stop.

You just got to fight for it. Fight for it. Fight for it. Fight for it.

_Don't give up, honey. Please, don't give up. Just fight for me for a while longer, please? Please, honey._

Douglas stumbled, his hands shooting out to grab the railing leading up his flat but he missed. He fell to his knees, cracking them sharply on the ground. The sudden sharp pain, mixed with his guilt and the sloshing alcohol in his stomach twisted his world violently. He burped, then started vomiting there on the sidewalk.

A headache pounded his head angrily as Douglas pushed himself away from his own mess.

"I'm sorry..." he moaned to no one. He was alone in the street. "I'm sorry..."

 

 

 

 

 

He woke around three in the morning to a furious knocking. He thought he was still dreaming, too disoriented and sick to make heads or tails of the noise. He clutched his head, willing the idiot at the door to go away. Maybe if he stayed in bed long enough, they would.

The pounding continued. It got more and more panicked, desperate even. Douglas laid in his bed a few seconds longer, then with a groan, hauled himself up. He didn't bother to turn on any lights as he limped to the front door.

He opened it. "Carolyn?"

Carolyn pushed her way inside, dragging Arthur behind her. " _Close the door, close it_!"

Douglas did as he was told. "What's going on?"

Arthur was crying silently, his mouth quivering too harshly to speak. Carolyn held his head against her chest while she tried to rub his back soothingly. Even in the darkness, Douglas could see the side of her face sporting bruises. "He's gone crazy!"

"Who?" Like Douglas had to fucking ask. "Gordon?"

"We need to call the police. He's still out there-"

Douglas drew back a curtain to peer out the window.

"No, don't look-!"

There was a man shuffling in the middle of the street, right in front of Douglas' flat. His movements were erratic, uncoordinated, like he was drunk or high. "CAROLYN!" He screamed. At the noise, immediately the lights on other buildings turned on. "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BITCH?"

He turned, nearly stumbling over his own feet. In his right hand he held a gun.

"Jesus Christ," Douglas said, taking a step back. Anybody who walked out into that street right now could be shot.

"It's okay," Arthur said quietly from his mother's embrace. "I called Martin."

" _Martin_?" Douglas hissed. "The fuck is he going to do?"

"More than you!"

Now that shouldn't hurt. Arthur was scared, his mother was just as frightened, and his dad was out in the street, yelling and hollering like a mad man. Douglas crunched his face as the accusation, unable to deny it. But he didn't have time to argue this. He rushed back to his bedroom where his phone was charging. He took it out, dialing for the police. "Hello? Yes, there's a man on my street holding a gun. Yes, my address is-"

"CAROLYN! OPEN THIS DOOR!"

Gordon pounded on Douglas' front door, kicking it, ramming his shoulder against it. Carolyn dragged Arthur back, away from the door and window, ducking down behind a large chair.

" _He's bluffing,"_ Douglas whispered. He clutched the phone against his chest, muffling the voice of the dispatch. " _He doesn't know you're in here, don't respond."_

Gordon pounded against the door a few more times, making them all flinch with each strike. Finally, through the shadows of the curtains, Douglas saw Gordon back away. There was a moment when Gordon tried to look inside, pressing his face up against the windows, the silhouette of his body and gun in plain view. Douglas was glad he kept the lights off. Shit, Gordon was going to do this to every door on this street, wasn't he? It was only going to be a matter of time before someone did respond or he started using the gun.

The dispatcher on the phone kept asking for Douglas, her voice muffled and barely heard. He didn't dare answer her back, unsure if Gordon was really gone or was pressing his ear against the door. Hopefully one of the other neighbours were already calling the police.

Then, through the silence, Douglas heard Martin's voice echo from outside. " _Gordon, put down the gun."_

Arthur tore himself out of his mother's embrace, dashing for the window. Douglas dropped his phone, lunged and grabbed Arthur around his middle, pulling him back. "Get back down! Stay away from the window!"

Arthur struggled. He was shorter than Douglas, lighter, and yet it was like trying to hold a panicking cat. Douglas could barely hang on. "Martin's out there!" Arthur yelled, breaking loose of his grip.

"Arthur, no-!"

Arthur got to the window and hastily pulled back the curtains to look outside. Douglas pulled him down. "Stay down!" He hissed. He glanced up, out the window, into the street, where he watched Martin face Gordon head-on.

Martin stood there, his arms out to his side, showing he had no weapon on hand. Gordon held the gun up, pointing it straight at him.

"Gordon," Martin said calmly. "Put the gun down."

"No," Gordon slurred. "I need to teach that bitch a lesson."

"What lesson? Do you intend to kill her?" He was slowly closing the gap between them. Douglas motioned to Carolyn to pull Arthur back. Arthur shouldn't have to watch his friend _die_.

Gordon cocked his head confused at the question. "No, I'm not going to kill her-"

"Then why do you have the gun for? What is the purpose of a gun, Gordon? _To kill people_."

"No... I wasn't..."

"And were you going to do it in front of Arthur? Is this how you want your son to remember you by? Do you want to deny him both parents?"

Gordon's hold on the gun was going limp, the barrel pointing more at the ground than at Martin. "I just wanted to talk..."

"Then talk. There's no need for this and you know it. Now give me the gun. Your son is still watching."

Martin stood in front of Gordon and slowly reached out to grab the gun. Douglas stiffened, afraid Gordon would suddenly pull the trigger there, catching Martin in the gut.

Gordon let the gun slip free, allowing Martin to step back without a fight. "Good man."

 

 

 

 

 

Douglas was numb. Absolutely nothing was going through his mind at the moment, though so much was happening in front of him.

Several police cars were parked in the street, their red and blue lights flashing blindingly. Gordon was in one of those cars. The windows were tinted so Douglas wasn't sure which vehicle it was. The whole neighbourhood was awake at this point. Unashamed, many watched from their open windows, wrapped in their nightgowns while their children took videos on their phones. Others stood right out in front of their doors, and one guy had the audacity to bring out a lawn chair to watch the proceedings.

Martin was busying talking to one officer. Douglas couldn't hear what he was saying but his hands were very animated.

Carolyn was sitting in an ambulance. Apparently she had refused a drive to the hospital. Arthur was next to her, allowing her to stroke his hair. It looked like she was comforting him, though Douglas was sure it was the other way around. Her ex-husband did try to kill her tonight.

A few officers talked to Douglas. He didn't have much to add except for that five minute interval in which he sheltered Carolyn and Arthur. Compared to Martin, Douglas felt like all he did was sit there and twiddle his thumbs.

By now, as the neighbours sleepily went back into their houses to catch the final hours of the night, Douglas thought the numbness would go away. His eyes kept drifting back from Martin to Arthur, to Carolyn, then back to Martin. Over and over like he was on a carousel. It took him a great deal of time to realize why he was feeling like that.

He was scared. For them.

Douglas didn't want this, he didn't want this. His fucking hands were shaking and his legs was aching like he'd been walking on it for hours.

Three people could've died today. What would've happened if Douglas had ignored Carolyn's pounding on the door? What if he'd been ten seconds slower in opening it? Martin didn't come until after Douglas let them in. Gordon would have seen them and killed them.

And what about Martin himself? That damn fool could've been shot. Even if the bullet hit his arm or foot, he could've died. What kind of strategy was that? Make yourself the target and hope for the best?

Speaking of whom, Martin was walking towards him. Douglas sat up straight, trying to look less pathetic and felt like he failed. The bags under his eyes were so heavy he swore they hanged below his chin.

"The paramedics convinced Carolyn and Arthur to go to the hospital. If you want to go with them, now is the time."

Martin was so physically drained he sagged as he stood there. His clothes probably felt like a tonne. There was also a tone of defensiveness in his voice, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Of course he was defensive. Only a few hours ago Douglas nearly assaulted him in a pub.

"You should go," Douglas said. "Arthur prefers you anyways."

Martin snorted. "Arthur likes me, he does not 'prefer' me. And he's not angry with you, not anymore. Arthur is physically incapable of holding grudges. If you want this, Douglas, go for it."

He moved away. Less than an hour ago someone held a gun to his face and Martin was still giving out advice. Douglas watched him disappear among the police vehicles, then turned his gaze back to Arthur.

Arthur has never looked so lonely. So _old_. He was going to be one of those people who looked like they never grew out of adolecense. He was always going to look like a little boy with his big cheeks and big teeth. His eyes though, they've seen things. He was forced to grow up fast, and despite his efforts to cling on to his childhood, this world was telling him to let go.

Douglas didn't want him to let go.

He stood up, shrugged off the shock blanket someone had draped over him and trudged over to the ambulance. "Are you two okay?"

Carolyn blinked up to him. Her eyes were wet, but grateful. "We'll be fine," she said. "Thank you... for helping us."

The bottom of her lip trembled and it suddenly struck Douglas that he might not have been the first person she went to for help. Did she go to other doors, other supposed 'friends' seeking sanctuary?

"Anytime," Douglas choked out.

At those words, Arthur broke. His face crumbled, and he suddenly pulled away from Carolyn's embrace, jumped off the ambulance and threw himself into Douglas' arms. Douglas was surprised by the move. He did not pull away, instead he held the young boy close, letting him cry silently into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," Douglas said to him. "I'm so sorry I yelled at you. I'll make amends, I promise."

 

 

 

 

 

Douglas could only read a few passages from the Bible before wanting to put it down. Despite everything that has happened, he did not believe in God. He believed in a lot of things, but this holy book and everything it represented was not one of them.

He placed the Bible aside, clasping his hands together, waiting for Martin to come back. He was tempted to get up and grab a book from Martin's personal library. He did notice a new pilot exam book sitting on the shelf, the spine already broken and a few pages marked with bright stickers.

When the door to the office opened, Douglas sat up straighter. Martin walked in, dressed in his crisp, black clothes with his clerical collar in plain view.

"Hello, Douglas," Martin said, closing the door behind them. "You look well."

"I feel well." This was the first time Douglas had seen Martin in nearly three weeks. A lot has changed since then. "I started going to group therapy for my... alcoholism."

Martin sat down, not behind his desk, but in the chair besides Douglas. "That's good," Martin said. "I'm glad."

"I'm learning a lot. About myself, about... my addiction. As part of my therapy, it was suggested I make amends to people I have wronged in the past when I was..."

Douglas could barely make himself say it. _When I was drunk_. The fact he couldn't even say it out loud proved how much he needed to do this.

"... when I was drunk," he bit out. His hands shook from the effort. "So I need to apologize to you."

Martin waited. Not pushing, not prompting. It made Douglas wonder how many times Martin has done this.

"That night at the pub, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I... tried to attack you. You were only trying to help and I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Martin."

Douglas tensed, expecting a blow.

"Thank you, Douglas," Martin said. He grinned lightly. "I forgive you."

His response was so soft, so tender, something in Douglas' chest _cracked_. He jerked his head away, his teeth gritting. "I don't understand how you're like this."

"Like how?"

"This!" Douglas said. Fuck, was he crying? Fuck, he was crying. "You-you... forgive me so easily. You... stood in front of a madman with a gun and talked him down. You... tell racist old ladies to shut up, you gained the confidence of a scared woman, a lonely teenage boy... and... and..."

He wiped furiously at his face, shaking his head as more tears fell. "You don't give up, do you? Even after you told me you failed your pilot's exam, I can see there, right there on your book shelf, your determination to carry on. How? How do you find the _strength_?"

Martin didn't answer right away. He pulled out a cloth handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to Douglas.

"It's not easy," Martin said. "There are days when it feels like there's stones piling on top of me, crushing me to death. I get anxiety, I get so nervous sometimes, I start stuttering and can't stop. It's pretty embarrassing, actually."

He took a breath.

"People don't come to church, Douglas, for God. Some of them do, but the majority? They come because they need help. Guidance, advice. I used to watch my dad as he talked people down from committing suicide, from relapsing, from... giving up. He gave hope when there was none. And I do my best to offer that hope in any shape and form I can."

Douglas dabbed his face. "I gave up."

"Tell me about it."

Douglas hesitated. This wasn't a story he planned to share today, if ever. Just thinking about that night made his insides twist with rage and guilt. It made him want to reach out, grab the nearest bottle and drink until his sight turned white.

He was never going to be ready to say this.

"I've... always been a drinker," Douglas began. "Not much. Never to a point where I would black out. But self-restraint? Not one of my strong suits. I always have to have the last word, the last biscuit, the last hurrah. I was a pilot, Martin. And a damn good one. Did you know I once landed a plane when an engine exploded? I still have the article the locals wrote on me. Then... I don't know what happened. I got cocky. Self-absorbed. Thought I could get away with anything. I don't even remember doing it but... they found out I flew while drunk. Not only did they fire me, but they also fired my First Officer who didn't noticed."

Poor Janine. Douglas did his best to help her find another flying job, but by then her name had been blacklisted from nearly every commercial company on this side of the Atlantic. She has never forgiven him. Last Douglas heard, she had moved to Canada to start anew. He hoped she was happy.

"After that... things went downhill for me. I couldn't find another flying job, good deal of my friends deserted me, I was fighting with my wife all the time, and that's when my drinking got worse. I was drunk nearly every day. It lasted for _months_."

The next words weren't even out of his mouth yet and already he thought he would hyperventilate and pass out. Tears were falling freely out of his eyes and he did nothing to stop them.

"I wasn't drunk that night. The night my daughter died. The roads were wet. Just wet. I had just picked her up from school and we were driving home when... we were sandwiched between two cars. My leg was caught, crushed in between the seat and the dashboard. My daughter... her chest had been..."

Douglas let out a sob. "I begged her not to let go. I pleaded her to keep fighting, to stay with me long enough for the ambulances to get to us."

'Pleaded' was such a pretty word. Douglas _begged_ , begged like a goddamn dog. His arm had been broken in the crash too, unable to help him move, to reach out. So he laid there, blood spilling over his face, one arm pressed up against him while the other twitched uselessly, and he watched in stark horror as his daughter took her last breaths.

_Don't give up, honey. Please, don't give up._

Martin curled a hand over Douglas' back. "Do you remember that day I met you? You opened up your door to me, let me inside, allowed a complete stranger hospitality. Not only did you extend it to me, you extended it to Arthur, to Carolyn. No, Douglas, you didn't give up. You only thought you did. You don't believe it now, and you probably won't believe it for a long time. You didn't give up on your daughter, so don't give up on yourself too."

 

 

 

 

 

That Sunday, Douglas met with Arthur and Carolyn for church. Arthur was dressed in his usual bright coloured clothing, looking like an Easter basket had exploded over him. Carolyn was a bit more conservative, but today she stood a little straighter, her cheeks a little brighter. When she greeted Douglas, there was smile on her lips. "Hello."

"Hello," Douglas said back. "Shall we?"


End file.
